Hothouse
by chshrkitten
Summary: Daisy isn't doing very well tonight, and Jordan only wants to help. Or: the one where Daisy actually attends a Gatsby party, but doesn't meet Gatsby quite yet. Pre-canon, but only barely. Light Jordaisy. CW: dubcon, because alcohol. Implied sex.


Jordan Baker stood at the edge of the garden, watching the throngs of people as they passed. Just like every Gatsby party, it was a beautiful scene; handsome men and comely women laughed while they danced, their faces lit up by starlight and champagne. It would be worth attending just for the view, Jordan thought. But she wasn't here for the view. She was waiting for someone.

More specifically, she was waiting for Daisy Fay Buchanan, who had confided in her friend earlier that she planned to slip away and "have a bit of fun, for once," as she had said pertly, with an air of unspecified defiance. Her husband's increasing blatancy might finally be getting to the girl.

Jordan sighed, hoping she wouldn't be standing here alone for much longer, and wondering if she should give up on Daisy- or at least go looking for her.

No, she decided. Jordan Baker always did fine waiting for the things she wanted, and they generally came to her in the end. Daisy would be the same, no matter how flighty her friend could be. And that woman was certainly worth waiting for...

Suddenly, a shock of gold hair appeared for a moment over the heads of the other guests, before disappearing again into the crowd that rose and fell like waves in a storm. It could have been any blonde woman, really, but Jordan knew who it was, and pushed off from the wall she'd been leaning on.

Sinking into her natural element, she dove into the crowd. She scattered compliments, greetings, remembrances, and casual gestures in her wake, working her way methodically in towards the very center of the chaos, towards Daisy's side.

"Ah, Daisy Buchanan." The woman smiled with painstakingly crafted ennui. "How very surprising to see you here. I didn't think you usually came."

"I don't." Daisy's answering smile was weak, and blurred at the edges. Everything about her, in point of fact, seemed to be skewed just a bit out of focus. "I wanted a night out. A sort of adventure." She blinked, and a few flecks of dried kohl fell to her cheek like tears.

That girl was a damned mess.

"Well, that's understandable, considering. Adventures do seem popular in your household." The woman standing next to Daisy tittered at her own (lack of) subtlety, all but mouthing the word 'Tom'.

Well, that wouldn't do.

Jordan looked her up and down, slowly and deliberately. "Mrs. Gladys Mulready." She said. "I believe I remember you. We met here a few weeks ago."

"Ah, yes, we did. But my name is Gloria…?"

"Of course." She said, filling her mouth with tranquility. "My mistake."

There was a brief and mildly painful silence, in which Mrs. Mulready fidgeted with her clutch, and Jordan did not allow her to break eye contact. Daisy glanced between the two women as though unsure what conversation she was taking part in. She shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. Like a child, Jordan thought. But there was something endearing about that, like most of Daisy's strange little mannerisms.

It was clear by now that Mrs. Mulready wasn't going to say anything, or do anything else very interesting except stand there looking offended. Jordan started to get bored.

"Daisy, come with me for a moment." She said on an impulse. "I want to show you something in the library."

"Oh, alright." She turned rather uncertainly to say goodbye. "It was just lovely seeing you, Mrs. Mulready."

"You as well, Mrs. Buchanan, I'm sure." The woman said faintly.

Jordan was already walking away, not bothering to listen for Daisy's heels clacking on the tiled path behind her. Daisy would follow, Jordan could be sure of that.

The library was cool and dark, with only one lamp left lit. "Would you like to sit down, Daisy?"

"Oh, yes. It's so cool and nice in here…" she trailed off. "I _have_ been drinking tonight."

"I assumed so."

"I probably looked a wreck to poor Mrs. Mulready."

"Oh, probably. But that doesn't matter, she's an old vulture anyhow."

Daisy laughed in a vague sort of way, and Jordan found that she wished the girl was paying more attention to her.

Daisy moved around the end of the sofa, somewhere between wandering and pacing. She trailed her hand over the rich brocade. "It was very kind of you, to come find me like that. You absolutely rescued me, and carried me away from the dragon of public embarrassment!" As usual, she giggled at her own almost meaningless statement.

"Anytime, my lady." She said sardonically. "Daisy, sit down. You're tired."

She sat, and Jordan beside her.

"Do you really think me so silly?" Daisy's smile was still a little watery, but it was there. They had been laughing and drinking for just under an hour. Considering what was known about his parties, that fact that Jay Gatsby kept wine on ice in his library wasn't even surprising.

"With a head as empty as a flowerpot, my precious." Jordan waved one hand in a grand gesture.

Daisy's fourth glass of the evening must have told her that this was incredibly funny, because she began to giggle, and didn't stop until laughter had shook itself down into tears.

"Alright, now, you don't need to do that. What does a girl like you have to cry over?" She remembered that Daisy always forgot to bring a handkerchief, and took out her own, passing it gently over the other woman's face. Daisy Buchanan was probably the only woman in the world who looked this pretty with eyes that were already starting to swell. When Daisy answered her, it took Jordan a moment to remember the question.

"Men."

Jordan laughed, just half a beat too late. Her conversational partner didn't notice her brief distraction, but Jordan hadn't expected her to. "That's certainly enough of a reason."

For a moment, they were content to sit in silence, until Daisy sat forward and spoke again. Uncharacteristically, she seemed to want to explain herself.

"You wouldn't think any of them would be worth it, really."

"True." Jordan laughed again, trying to take the seriousness out of her friend's expression. It wasn't an emotion that flattered either of them.

"But they are worth it sometimes, aren't they?"

Jordan considered. "Oh, I don't know. Both of us _look_ quite nice beside them."

"And that's rather important, when _looks_ are the only damned thing I have, isn't it?" Daisy twisted her fingers in the fringe of her dress, laughing almost hysterically. Since she'd been on the verge of hysterics for most of the night, this didn't strike Jordan as worth being concerned about.

"Never heard you swear before." She said lightly.

"Don't like to."

"And you shouldn't speak as if your looks were the only thing about you-"

"I wish they were!" She blinked, seeming surprised at her own outburst. "Jordan, do you know how children play pretend at being princesses, or fairies, or, or I don't know, singers or something?"

Jordan waited.

"Well, I always used to pretend I was a doll. I remember I would lie on that old window seat, with the ugly green cover...do you remember that window seat? You were over at the house so much when we were young girls...and I would lie very stiff and still, with my eyes shut, and think _I am a doll, and soon the child that left me here will come back to play with me again. I am only a doll, with doll dresses and doll curls._ I was a silly child." She paused, swallowed, blinked, and spoke again. "I wish I could be a doll now."

"Why?"

"Dolls don't have to choose anything."

Jordan looked very carefully at Daisy sitting there, with her drooping gown and her neck bowed like a flower stem. Flowers in hothouses always looked like that, so sheltered and over-blooming that they seemed sickly. Still, the fragility created a lovely effect.

Jordan reconsidered, and recalculated her plans for the evening. "Why Daisy, neither do you."

Daisy's cut-glass eyes came open and met hers.

"Hush, come here." Jordan pulled her closer, until the woman's blonde head fell limply onto her shoulder. "You don't need to think so much, darling." Jordan could feel her hot breath on her neck, and pointedly didn't decide to feel guilty. Unlike her dearest friend, Jordan Baker could compartmentalize her emotions. She wasn't fragile, the way Daisy sometimes was. No, Jordan was _always_ composed, always careful, and that was why her friend came to her for comfort. This type of comfort was different, but what did that matter?

She justified herself with these thoughts as she traced the line of Daisy's sternum down beneath the neckline of her dress, and whispered, "You're a fool, Daisy. A beautiful, beautiful little fool…"


End file.
